


Back to the Beginning

by DawnOfTomorrow



Series: A Time Apart [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Do-Over, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnOfTomorrow/pseuds/DawnOfTomorrow
Summary: AU – years and years after the fateful Grand Prix, Victor and Yuuri are still together. They’re still going strong, until a car accident ends it all. The last thing Yuuri sees before he dies is Victor’s face… until he wakes up in his hotel room in Sochi, the day before his short program at that very first Grand Prix, so many years ago.He has no idea how, but he has travelled back in time by well over a decade. He’s shocked, angry, heartbroken… and determined. He’s not the same person he was back then, but nobody knows – he can’t even tell Victor, because the Victor he’s competing against doesn’t know him.Yuuri is happy with that. Really, it’s for the best to stay away from this younger Victor… isn’t it?
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: A Time Apart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605760
Comments: 101
Kudos: 281





	1. Introduction

It was a late-night drive home towards St. Petersburg that sealed their fate. They’d attended a skating event at some rink with an unpronounceable name – at least Yuuri thought so, even after years of speaking Russian – and were on the way home.

It had gone well. Their student – a 16-year-old Belarusian skater with more talent than sense – had done well… and had insisted on staying late. Victor hadn’t cared, but Yuuri had wanted to go home sooner.

By the time they finally got in the car, he was already dozing off, and the much more awake Victor was driving. Yuuri preferred it anyway – Russian drivers intimidated him.

They were maybe half an hour from their house in suburban St. Petersburg when disaster struck. Yuuri didn’t even realise anything was wrong until it was too late. A truck was going in the opposite direction they were, headlights uncomfortable in the near-black night.

Yuuri squinted at it, when in less than a second, the truck veered to their side of the road. He didn’t so much as have the time to scream or to warn Victor, before the world moves and pain flares throughout his entire body. He could feel himself being thrown around in the car, held in place by a seatbelt even as he smacked against the car door, the seat, Victor.

The pain was nearly unbearable, and by the time they came to a rest and the car stopped spinning, Yuuri wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. He was blindly reaching around in the dark, immensely relieved when he found Victor’s hand.

He squeezed, and the Russian squeezed back – he was alive. Yuuri’s heart sang with relief. He was vaguely aware that it was too dark, even for the time of night – he had his eyes closed. Forcing them open, he realised that everything was blurry. He wasn’t sure if it was his glasses or something else, but nothing seemed to be quite in focus for him… Not even Victor.

The man was by his side – his right side, not in the car, as Yuuri had expected. He could vaguely make out that something was wrong, that Victor was talking, shouting, but Yuuri couldn’t hear him. Even breathing hurt, so he resigned himself to short, rattling breaths.

He reached for Victor again, fingers sliding against, and slipping from, silver hair. It really had begun to thin – not that he would tell his lover. He did try to ask Victor if he was ok – to his horror, the only thing spilling from his mouth was blood, not words.

It was then that the world came in sharper focus again, including Victor, and that he realised with an incredible certainty, that he was going to die. Eyes fixed on Victor’s, he did his best to speak, just one more sentence – one more sentence was all he needed.

“I love you.”

The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Yuuri had never been dead before. He wasn’t sure what being dead felt like, nor what it was supposed to feel like, but he was fairly certain what he was experiencing wasn’t it. He jumped up, heart racing and breath coming in short gasps.

That… was unexpected.

For a moment, his mind was hazy with sleep and confusion, before he could tell what was happening. He was… alone. In a room – a hotel room. He was also alive.

That too didn’t seem right. Fumbling for his glasses, he looked around the room again. It was familiar enough – he’d stayed there once, many, many years ago.

The Sochi Grand Prix. 2014.

Except… except that made no sense because he REMEMBERED dying near St. Petersburg, well over a decade later. He remembered… everything. His life, with Victor. With Makka. With Yuri. With… everyone.

It wasn’t a dream, the way dreams felt real sometimes. If anything, it made more sense for the stupid Sochi hotel room to be a dream. Surely, that wasn’t what happened after death? Yuuri wasn’t religious, but as far as he understood, it was supposed to be either clouds and a golden gate or eternal hellfire that awaited him.

Not a boring hotel room he’d stayed in ages ago.

Out of habit, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. That was the next issue – he knew the phone. It was old, a model he used to have. Fingers shaking, he opened up a browser and checked the news there.

It was November.

The 12th of November.

The 12th of November 2014.

Yuuri screamed.

Not a minute later, the door to his room banged open and a familiar face burst into the room – Celestino. Yuuri’s coach.

“Yuuri! What’s wrong! What happened? I heard you scream, are you okay?”

This couldn’t be happening.

It just… it couldn’t.

He was vaguely aware that he’d collapsed next to the bed he’d been in, and that his coach – no, not his coach, not for years – was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear. His breath was coming faster and faster, his eyes unable to focus on anything.

He could remember his life dammit, and he remembered dying. He couldn’t be in Sochi now, it was impossible. He couldn’t be anywhere at all. It just… wasn’t possible.

Shaking like a leaf, he let Celestino help him sit on the edge of the bed again, his breathing slowing to something less like hyperventilating. Slowly, very slowly, colour and sound were returning to the world as well… as was his awareness of Celestino.

He gulped, trying to collect himself.

“C-Coach?” He asked, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He hadn’t called anyone coach in a long, long time.

“Yes? Yuuri, are you ok? What’s going on? Is it your anxiety?”

He mutely shook his head – what was he supposed to say?

“I… I had a cramp, I think? And I fell? I’m not sure. Sorry I scared you.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself down – Celestino sat on the bed next to him.

“I see. Yuuri, if it’s the stress of the competition, don’t worry about it. You’ve practiced, you have your routines down. As long as you stay calm, you’ll do great.”

He nearly screamed again.

Competition? He was supposed to… to compete? He hadn’t been in a competition since his fourth gold medal at World’s – and now he was supposed to compete with a routine he couldn’t even remember?

Well, he could remember skating it, but given that he’d mostly just fallen, that wasn’t very helpful.

“I’ll do my best… coach. When are we supposed to be at the rink?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your slot is in three hours. Get some more sleep?”

“Sure.”

He forced a smile as he watched Celestino leave – at least until the door closed behind him.

Then he was up in a flurry, racing to the bathroom. The mirror revealed what he had suspected – his younger self. He hadn’t changed much, but there had been a hint of grey in his hair, and wrinkles around his eyes. All gone – he was 22 again.

He quickly inspected his leg – a scar from a nasty fall a few years down the road? Gone.

A mole he’d had removed because of chafing – still there.

After a few more inspections, he decided to pinch himself, on the absurd off-chance that that would wake him up… or end whatever nightmare he was stuck in.

It did not.

It did, however, leave him with quite the bruise on his thigh.

Cursing weakly, he went back to his phone. It seemed like he was stuck reliving his past… and that was a bit of a problem. His most immediate issue was likely skating.

He checked the schedule and it was the day before the competitions started – the day before his short program, the day before Vicchan died. It long since stopped hurting, of course, and he’d had more dogs since Vicchan, but if he was indeed somehow stuck in the past… well, that meant that then and there, Vicchan was alive.

With shaky fingers, he dialled his sister’s number. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, little bro. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m doing good. Fine. I… can I see Vicchan?”

Mari was obviously confused, but she whistled over his dog anyway – she knew how Yuuri could be before competitions.

There he was, his little furball… alive.

Yuuri gulped.

“Mari, I have a request?”

“What is it, squirt?”

“Could you take pictures? Of him? And video? As much as possible, before I skate tomorrow.”

The question was obvious in his sister’s face, but she shrugged it off.

“Sure. I’ll send you all the good stuff.”

“Y-Yeah, thank you.”

“That’s alright. Do your best, we’re all cheering for you!”

Nodding, he ended the call.

His mind was still in turmoil – his long-since-dead dog was… alive. Except he wouldn’t be for long, and there was nothing Yuuri could do about it.

He sighed.

Switching to Youtube, he looked for videos of his old performances – ones that featured the short he was supposed to know and have trained.

Sadly, YouTube was no help at all – while he found snippets, there wasn’t enough material to really piece everything together, especially not off the ice.

Decision made, Yuuri put on his training outfit and tracksuit and headed out.

He had work to do and very little time to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

Being young again had his perks, he found – not that he hadn’t still been in great shape, but the difference was remarkable. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d jumped a quad without his knees aching afterwards.

He could spin, jump and stretch much more easily – he felt almost like he was cheating. Getting access to the rink had been remarkably easy – he’d just asked the attendant. The man had given permission, as long as he left by the time the other skaters showed up for their allocated times.

On the ice, he’d found that, to his relief, his skills were on par with what he had had before his death. He could jump and land all the quads, and with ease. He knew for a fact that his younger self hadn’t been anywhere near that level of skill – not in his wildest dreams.

Of course, that didn’t help him gain back his lost routines, but it gave him more flexibility on the matter.

After landing a quad flip – comforting in its familiarity – he came up with the perfect solution.

Well, not perfect – actually not even good, but better than nothing.

He’d brought a little notebook and frantically scribbled down everything he could remember on the routine from before – both from memory and from the videos he’d seen. Between both sets of notes, he could more or less come up with something.

At least, that was the idea.

Of course, having less than two hours to do so was… challenging, even for him. The intricacies of the steps, the motions… it was a lot. He had to remember and relearn the routine… and then skate it at a believable level, didn’t he? He didn’t want to make waves in this new reality – he didn’t want to be there at all.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t even remember the theme of the season he was now stuck in – hadn’t it been dreams or something like that?

Frustrated, he launched into a quad loop, triple toe loop combination.

The sound of his skates on the ice nearly made him miss the sound of a door closing, followed by a thump.

He instinctively shot around, only to come face to face with the last person he wanted to see on the planet.

Victor Nikiforov.

Except… not his Victor. Before him, on the other side of the rink barrier stood not his lover and husband, but a stranger who didn’t know his name.

Fighting down panic, Yuuri skated to the exit and put on his skate guards.

“Sorry for taking up the rink. I’ll take my leave.” He bit out, his voice just a little shaky.

He nearly made it out the door too, past Victor and the skate bag sitting by his feet, when an achingly familiar voice called out to him.

“Wait!”

Half-turning, he looked back at the other man, resisting the urge to run away.

“Hm?”

“That… was a quad loop? In a combination?”

“Yes.”

“But… I can’t even do that. How can you?”

Yuuri shrugged, a sudden wave of vindictiveness washing over him.

“I guess I’m just the better skater at this competition, Mr. Nikiforov.”

With that, he darted away, as fast as his skates would let him. Once he was safe past another set of doors, he switched back to his normal shoes and high-tailed it back to his room.

He hadn’t been prepared for seeing this reality’s Victor… nor for said man to see him skate something that should be well past his ability.

To be fair, for 2014-Yuuri, it would have been. 2029-Yuuri? Not so much.

He hadn’t even lied… he really WAS the better skater.

No doubt, in a fair match Victor would still come out the winner – he almost always did, but pitting Yuuri’s experience in a younger body against the Victor from 2014? There was no competition there.

Yuuri could wipe the floor with him if he wanted.

That particular thought gave him an idea, if not a very kind one.

Yuuri Katsuki was the best skater in the world at the moment, not that anybody knew it. He could seriously change up the skating world if he wanted to… and he did.

Because Yuuri Katsuki was also ANGRY.

He’d lost his life, his lover, everything, and now had to start all over, with people who were veritable strangers to him.

He was the only one who remembered, the only one who knew the future… and he wasn’t going to let things happen the same way. Screw not making waves, he was going to cause a tsunami.

Yuuri Katsuki was no longer the same man he had been at age 23, and if he had to do things over, he would make damn sure that they would be different.

In other words… he was going to win the 2014 Sochi Grand Prix.


	4. Chapter 4

His decision made, he found it surprisingly… well, easy to put it all in motion.

He stayed in his room, listening to his short program on repeat while frantically sketching in his notebook all the way until Celestino picked him up for practice.

Following the man to the rink, he let his reassurances wash over him. 2014-Yuuri had needed them, had thrived on the praise. His older self… well, Yuuri hadn’t suffered from his anxiety in a long time, at least not like he used to.

Still, he followed Celestino’s advice to the letter – he didn’t practice his jumps, he stuck to steps and spins and basic moves. The hour of training time allotted to him was spent following his coach’s instructions, while also planning his actual skate.

He almost felt sorry for Celestino.

Unlike during his morning skate, there were more people around the rink now. Some familiar faces – Chris Giacometti and Cao Bin, for example. Not that they knew him – not really, not yet.

He was relieved to find that Victor was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t need the emotional turmoil that came with that, he really didn’t.

The hour passed as quickly as he’d hoped, and it passed unremarkably. He turned down Celestino’s offers for company and spent the afternoon in his room… planning.

If the odd tear or two fell, well, that was between him, his memories and his aching heart.

His new old routine was coming together though. It was wildly beyond what his younger self was capable of. Celestino was going to be so angry.

And Yuuri? Yuuri was going to spend this hellish do-over at the top of every competition scoreboard until this personal nightmare ended.

As if to mock him, he slept perfectly well that night – he certainly hadn’t the first time around… or any night before competitions, really, not until Victor had come into his life.

Squashing that thought down, he prepared for the upcoming competition. He already knew his placement – he was up third. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered for now… except winning. He was going to change history, make sure that things would never be the same… because they couldn’t.

Sitting by the rinkside a little later, he smiled to himself – he did feel a little bad for what he was about to do to Celestino. His coach had always been good to him, and he was fairly sure that he was about to give the man a heart attack.

He sat quietly the way he usually did before performances until the previous skater – Michele Crispino – stepped off the ice.

It was time. Handing his tracksuit jacket to his coach, he pulled off his skate guards and stepped onto the ice. It was achingly familiar. In a world where nothing was quite right, the ice underneath his skates felt the same – it was something to hold onto.

He skated the customary lap before returning to his coach.

“Hey, coach?”

“Yes? Don’t worry Yuuri, you’ll do fi-”

He shook his head, interrupting Celestino.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to change my program.”

“Uh… after the Grand Prix? Sure, there is time before nationals…”

He smiled weakly.

“No actually. I’m going to change it… now. Sorry, Celestino.”

He ignored his old coach’s vehement protests and skated towards the centre of the rink – just in time for the beep that signalled the beginning of his performance.

He waited for the first chimes of the music to play his new routine fresh on his mind. It was different from the original in almost every way. He’d upgraded most jumps, changed the step sequences to feature elements he’d choreographed for other performances, and focused on elements he regularly used.

The fact that it was his first time actually skating the routine added an interesting element of challenge to it.

He calmly critiqued himself as he skated – a weak transition here, an ill-fitting step sequence there, even an under-rotation on a quad Lutz… but then, in no time at all, it was over. He didn’t need to hear the scores. He hadn’t done nearly as well as he could given proper training… and yet he’d performed beyond what his 23-year old self could have called a lifetime best… and he couldn’t enjoy it.

He came to a halt in the final position he’d chosen – he was kneeling on the ice, head curled towards his chest, arms wrapped around himself. It had been… well, a bit of a strategic choice.

The hot tears that were running down his cheeks and dripping onto the ice proved that he had made the right choice.

He couldn’t hear if there was applause – he rather thought so, but no sound registered. Eventually, he wiped his tears, stood up and bowed to the audience. Between him and the exit (and a likely shocked and angry Celestino) lay an unprecedented amount of gifts – plushies, flowers and more.

Dodging most of them, he picked up a poodle toy and a cat… because they were in his way, he told himself. Not because they reminded him of the people he loved.

Steeling himself for the lecture of a lifetime, Yuuri clutched the plushies and stepped off the ice.


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t make it all the way to where his coach was standing before something attached itself to his side. No, not something – someone. A familiar someone.

Victor Nikiforov was practically hanging onto him. The touch was achingly familiar – too familiar. He couldn’t think, froze on the spot.

“Yuuri! That was amazing! Can I come to the Kiss & Cry with you?”

Too familiar.

Too much.

“I’m sorry Victor, I’ll speak to you later.”

With an enormous effort of will, he pulled away and followed Celestino to the Kiss & Cry, to hear what he already knew – that he had done better than he should be capable of, by all rights.

Well, he was right. He was also severely underscored.

109.28.

Ultimately, it was no surprise. He’d never performed like that, there was no way the judges would be anything other than apprehensive in their scoring.

It was a personal best, of course. In another situation, he could have probably netted about 115 or so points on his performance – it didn’t matter. It was good enough.

Nobody except for Victor, and maybe Chris, could even crack the 100 mark at this point in the competition, and even if they scored above him, the free was yet to come, and that was always where Yuuri really shone.

All of that and more was what Celestino whispered to him as he frog-marched Yuuri to the changing room, and ultimately back to his hotel room, where he started animatedly pacing in front of Yuuri.

Yuuri was playing with his phone. He wasn’t waiting for a call – it was switched off. He knew exactly what kind of call he would get if he turned it on, and for all that, he’d dealt with Vicchan’s passing… no, he didn’t have it in him to listen to Mari’s distraught voice again.

Not yet anyway.

“Yuuri! Are you even listening to me?”

He put his phone down.

“No. Sorry.”

“What’s gotten INTO you? You’re not acting like yourself today.”

He sighed – if only Celestino knew.

“Look, I’m sorry I was holding out on you like this. I really am. I just… needed to do this.”

“Needed to do WHAT? Shake up the entire skating world with one performance?”

Yuuri smiled weakly.

“Not one. All of them. I’m already planning my new free skate.”

“Yuuri! This is insanity! You can’t do this!”

He relaxed a fraction.

“Of course I can. You saw me today.”

Celestino dropped on the bed next to him.

“So… has it all been fake so far? I just… I don’t know what to think.”

“No, no. It’s not like that. I just… need to do this.”

That set off Celestino into another rant about Yuuri’s behaviour… he tuned him out.

By the time his coach was finally tired out and left, Yuuri was dead-tired… but he had work to do.

He couldn’t sleep, not before he was ready.

Staying up late until he was done meant sleeping in the next day… it meant skipping breakfast and practice. He didn’t truly need the private hour at the rink, but skating the routine for the first time on the ice presented an additional challenge.

He felt it, waiting for the previous skater to leave the ice – Victor. He deliberately avoided the other man, dodged out of the way before stepping onto the ice. It felt… it felt the same as it always had. Cold, comforting.

Waiting, in the middle of the rink, for the signal to start his performance, was the closest he felt to normal again. Somehow, the ice was its own world, a world where time, memories and reality didn’t matter, and only Yuuri and his skates existed.

He knew that his program was only a few minutes long, but he was determined to make them count… more than he had before.

More than ever, probably.

He had been underscored by the judges in both performance and technical scores in his short. He was not going to give them the opportunity to do so again.

He hadn’t bothered looking at the scoreboards too much, though Celestino had given him a rough idea anyway – he knew that they showed him above Victor and Chris. He didn’t know what score he needed to beat Victor, but he knew that the program he had prepared would easily accomplish his goal.

Yuuri Katsuki was going to win the Sochi Grand Prix, come hell or high water.

He let determination, longing, and nostalgia guide him across the ice and through his performance. He knew that if he managed to express half of what he felt – his love for the husband he lost alone would be enough – he’d be breaking world records.

By the time he came to a halt on the ice, breathing hard, his thighs burning from the five quads he had put in, he knew he had.

He stumbled to the bench like a zombie, ignoring the cheers of the audience. The score came in quicker this time.

227.82.

He’d taken the world record for the highest free skate result… and it felt horrible. He remembered the joy of hugging Victor on the bench the first time he’d done it, at his second Grand Prix. He remembered the emotional moments together, at the event and after.

Sitting on the bench without him, the achievement felt like nothing at all. He only glanced at the overall scoreboard. 337.10. He was on the top. He had scored higher than his Victor had during the 2014 Sochi Grand Prix.

He was a little surprised to see that this time around, Victor had scored a little lower – 327.34 instead of the 335 or so he’d had in Yuuri’s first tournament. He dimly wondered why, before dismissing the thought.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his Victor.

He didn’t care.

He wouldn’t care.

He’d make himself not care.

Straightening up, he got ready to face the press. He knew that it would be absolute madness even before he stepped out to the prepared interview area.

He… wasn’t wrong.

Celestino did his best to help him out, unaware that Yuuri knew perfectly well how to handle the press – Yuuri was happy to keep him in the dark. He appreciated the help, for what it was worth.

Surviving that press meeting and making it to the medal ceremony felt like it took hours when in truth, it was less than an hour in total.

The medal ceremony was probably the worst moment in his short second life so far. He stood above Victor on the podium, well aware that the Russian didn’t take his eyes off him for even a second. He knew that burning gaze, even if it was all wrong.

By the time he made it back to his room, he was struggling to keep it together enough to close the door behind himself.

Fighting the urge to just scream until he had no voice left, he instead decided to bite the bullet and turn his phone back on.

He set it down and took a shower while it buzzed with texts, rang with call after call and beeped with notification after notification.

By the time he had finished his shower, the phone had finished it’s little dance on the bed and was finally silent.

He scanned the multitude of messages listlessly. Calls from Mari. Eventually, a text. An apology that she couldn’t say it directly, but Vicchan had passed. A few dozens of photos of his beloved dog. Those, he saved – they were the one precious thing he had gained this time around that he hadn’t had before.

Texts and calls and voicemails from Phichit.

There were congratulations from sponsors – one message from one who’d decided to drop him just before the event. He deleted all the messages.

A flood of congratulatory texts from his family all received the same reply – ‘Thank you so much for your support. It means a lot to me.’

It was true – he genuinely was grateful to his friends and family for being there for him. He just… didn’t have it in him to respond to them individually. Not when he was still licking fresh wounds.

It took a remarkable amount of time for him to wade through it all – well past his normal dinnertime.

Darting down to the hotel restaurant, he was glad that the area was reserved for staff and competitors. Nobody there to bother him… at least not that late at night.

Well, so he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

He wasn’t halfway through his second bite when hands slammed down on the table in front of him and a painfully familiar pout entered his field of vision.

Victor Nikiforov.

“Yuuri Katsuki. YOU have been avoiding me.”

He gulped down his bite of food.

“Have I?”

“Yes. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“I see. Congratulations on your silver. Please excuse me.”

He fled – or at least tried to.

“Wait!”

He didn’t get very far. Fingers closed on his wrist and stopped him from even stepping away from the table. He stared at the hand wrapped around his in disbelief – what was this Victor even doing?

To the man’s credit, he released him with a mumbled apology.

Despite his better judgement, Yuuri sat back down.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“Do I need a reason?”

The Russian blinked at him.

“I… well… yes? No? I don’t know! Is there a reason?”

Yuuri fought a sudden wave of nausea.

“Not particularly. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your skating. You broke my record today. You also had FIVE quads in your free… and three of them in the second half. You COPIED my flip!”

Yuuri took a sip from his water.

“No, I didn’t copy you at all. My flip was the final quad in my program. As far as I know, you can’t skate yours that late. You don’t have the stamina.”

A shocked gasp from the other man let Yuuri know that he may have crossed a line – good. The sooner this torture ended, the better.

“Are you suggesting that you are the better skater, Yuuri Katsuki?”

“No. I’m saying it outright. There is no way the you right now can defeat the me right now.”

“Why have I never heard of you before?”

“Because I never skated like this before. You’re painfully unaware of all things not related directly to your dog or your own skating. Can you even name the other competitors from today?”

Now he was CERTAIN he’d crossed a line. Victor was looking… angry. Insulted.

“Of course I know their names. I knew yours too. What I DON’T know is why you waited until now to show your true skill. You don’t get this good overnight.”

He laughed, shocked by how close to the truth Victor got.

“No, that’s very true. If you want to know so badly, I decided that I wasn’t going to just let history run its course. I wanted to decide it for myself. Please excuse me.”

This time, when he left, Victor made no move to stop him.

As soon as he was around the corner, he fled – straight back up to his room. He ordered room service – even the exorbitant fee wasn’t going to make him go back down to the restaurant.

Not with Victor there. He’d have given a kidney to have the other man so interested in him the first time around. “Commemorative photo?” He’d said, so long ago. Yuuri had walked away then. He’d walked away now, and he would keep walking away until Victor lost interest in him.

Even if it felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

The next morning, he was barely able to crawl out of bed in time for the exhibition skate. He was the winner – he was expected to be joyous and to put on quite the show. He’d forgotten all about the exhibition skate and had nothing prepared for it.

That was… a problem. Before Celestino could even get up, Yuuri had hurried to the officials and had requested a change in music. They had refused, saying that it was too late to include different songs and that only the ones submitted by skaters ahead of time could be used.

That… gave him an idea.

A really, really, bad idea. Possibly disastrous. Sadly, also his only choice, unless he wanted to admit to his coach that he didn’t know his exhibition.

There was only one skating performance from 2014 that Yuuri still remembered and would probably always remember – Victor’s Aria free skate. After some arguing, the skating official agreed to Yuuri’s request – he promised to queue up Victor’s track instead of Yuuri’s exhibition one. Apparently, being the champion came with perks even if he didn’t have Victor’s (or his own) track record behind him.

Truthfully, he couldn’t even remember what piece of music the original had been – something slow, probably. Calm. Boring.

Victor’s program was anything BUT boring. It was dramatic, beautiful and it had marked the beginning of the best time in Yuuri’s life. Skating it in his boring exhibition costume, he knew it was the opposite. The end of something too dear to him for words.

He knew he did well even before the applause sounded and he got off the ice. He barely heard it, his mind fixated on one thing – well, one person. Victor Nikiforov was standing by the edge of the rink, practically radiating emotion as Yuuri stepped past him.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, only that it was… intense.

Too intense.

Not for the first time since his rebirth, Yuuri fled.


	7. Chapter 7

Celestino knocked on his door not too much later. He had been almost surprised the man hadn’t followed him immediately, but he was grateful, nonetheless.

“Do you want to go down to the banquet together? It’s almost time anyway.”

Yuuri groaned – the banquet. He didn’t remember the banquet. He never had gained that memory back, the memory of his first real interactions with Victor. Needless to say, he didn’t want to go at all… and yet he didn’t exactly have much of a choice.

“Let me get dressed.”

He did so, quickly, before following Celestino downstairs.

Stepping through the doors to the banquet hall, the medal around his neck felt much heavier than it should. Still, as the gold medallist, he had to attend.

Throughout his years of winning, by Victor’s side, he’d learned everything he needed to know about schmoozing officials and the press. He spent what felt like hours talking to the right people, accepting compliments (more than a few of which were backhanded) and laughing at terrible jokes.

Celestino was supportive by his side – if also visibly confused at his change in attitude. He was almost offended that his coach was as bewildered by his playing nice with officials as he had been by his skating. Even at 23, Yuuri hadn’t been THAT bad, had he?

Yuuri also spent significant amounts of time dodging Victor Nikiforov. At first, it seemed coincidental that they gravitated towards each other… then he realised that it was intentional. Victor was TRYING to get close to him.

That was… just not happening.

Yuuri dodged, avoided, and excused himself until he was exhausted from that alone. He finally sought respite on a balcony – even in the freezing November air, it was a relief from the stuffiness of the inside.

Naturally, things didn’t go his way.

He realised he was trapped when the door to the balcony slammed shut much more loudly than it needed to.

He knew who it was before he spun around.

Victor Nikiforov.

And Yuuri had no way to get away.

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor greeted him; his determination clearly visible. Yuuri knew that look. It was pure stubbornness, and there was nothing in the known universe that could withstand that. Well, not in the universe he had come from, at least.

He wasn’t sure how different it would be here.

“Good evening. Are you enjoying the party?”

Victor huffed.

“No. And neither are you. It’s obvious. What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “What I need to? I’m talking to officials and all that. You know how it is.”

“NOT that! I mean us!”

His words felt like a punch to the gut.

“Us?”

To his surprise, Victor blushed pink.

“You… you challenged me.”

He couldn’t fight a weak laugh.

“I haven’t challenged you at all.”

“You skated my program. You… well, you skated it better than me. Longing was MY theme, and you somehow did even that better than me. You BEAT me. Nobody beats me. So… you have my attention. What do you want from me? Do you want me to be a rival? A friend?”

It was too much like that moment on the beach when Victor had asked something similar of him. Too close for comfort. He knew what the right answer was, this time around.

“I don’t want anything. I’m sorry for taking your program, but I’m not looking for anything from you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh?”

“I have watched every single piece of skating you have ever done in the last two days. I’ve barely slept and I know for a FACT that you are a fan of mine.”

Yuuri’s heart ached.

“I… yeah, at some point, I guess. I was looking up to you when I was younger.”

To his surprise, a lot of Victor’s bravado seemed to drain out of him.

“When… you were younger? What happened? Did one of my performances disappoint you?”

Yuuri sighed – he wanted to get away from this Victor, but something… something compelled him to stay.

“No, nothing like that. I just woke up one morning and realised that I had surpassed you. That I didn’t need to chase anyone anymore. That if I wanted to take the crown, I… could.”

It was a bitter truth – not that the man before him could understand.

“So you defeated me. Just like that.”

“Just like that.”

An awkward, uncomfortable silence fell between them – Yuuri could see the turmoil in the other man, could see the struggle, but he forced himself to walk away. It wasn’t his Victor. This man wasn’t his husband.

Leaving that balcony was one of the hardest things Yuuri had ever done.

Smiling afterwards, and accepting the dance invitation of one Mila Babicheva, women’s bronze, was probably harder. He knew Mila. He’d bought her son his first set of skates. Still, he danced.

He danced with Sara. He danced with everyone, familiar or otherwise. He also watched – specifically, Victor and Chris. Well, mostly Victor. The man… drank. A lot. Sure, he’d always done that, but Yuuri knew how much he could handle, and he knew that Victor was deliberately putting himself past that point.

Chris seemed to supervise him to some extent, but he didn’t miss the tension between those two either.

He was itching to interfere but fought down the impulse ruthlessly. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn't his place.


	8. Chapter 8

Half an hour later, he stumbled from the banquet hall to the empty corridor – tired, so very tired. All he wanted was to sleep, and now that he’d finally fulfilled his duties, he fully intended to fall straight into bed.

Once again, fate had other ideas. He heard a sound – a shuffle, a sob maybe, from the direction opposite to his elevator.

It was tempting to go, it really was.

He spun on his heel and went to investigate the noise.

It was easy to find the source – one very drunk Russian, next to a potted plant. Victor looked so… lost. His heart clenched – it wasn’t an expression he’d seen on his husband in many, many years.

Victor noticed him instantly.

“Yuuri! Are you going to bed?”

Such an innocent question…asked in slurred Russian.

“Yes, I am. You should too. What’s your room number?”

“411. I don’t… remember the way?”

A sudden realisation dawned on Yuuri – the man before him was crying. Clear, pearly tears were falling from his eyes, darkening his suit. He had no idea how he’d missed it at first.

There was a slight reddening around his eyes, one that Yuuri knew only came when the other man had been crying for a while.

Guilt shot through him – had he caused this? Was it his fault?

“Come on, let’s get you up.” He declared, awkwardly pulling the taller man to his feet.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” He mumbled, in Russian – the man was definitely too drunk for English. To his relief, Victor didn’t fight him for a second, just latched onto him as Yuuri half-carried him to the elevator and to his room.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need help.”

“You don’t want anything to do with me.”

He groaned – what was he supposed to say to that?

“It’s hard to explain. It’s… it’s nothing you did. I promise.”

“Then WHY? Why don’t you like me? I can... I can usually make people like me.”

Fresh tears ran down Victor’s cheeks as he set the man down on the edge of his bed.

He wished there was something he could do – he really did.

Clearly, he’d waited too long to respond, because Victor was moving – shifting on the bed, sliding closer to him.

“Yuuri… why don’t you stay with me? You’re amazing. I want you to stay. Please. There is something about you that's so light… please, be by my side.”

He struggled to believe his ears – what was Victor talking about?

“Victor, you’re drunk-”

A hand settled over his mouth, gently but firmly.

“Yes, yes, I am drunk, but I’m not STUPID. I know something is going on. You’re… keeping it secret. I don’t want to interfere in your secrets or your life. I just… I want to be around you, I want to be part of it. You make me FEEL, Yuuri.”

Yuuri was frozen in place, no longer so much as breathing. He had no frame of reference for what Victor was doing – this was nothing like his husband. He'd never seen his Victor so upset, so torn up. Was this what the other man had dealt with when they met? They'd never really spoken about it - Yuuri had respected Victor's wish to keep it in the past. Was... this how the other man had felt? Had he cried like this after the banquet? Alone? Desperate?

“Vic-”

The Russian shook his head.

“No! I don’t want to hear it. Just… just tell me what I need to be. Your lover? Friend? Father figure? Just TELL me, Yuuri!”

He felt tears of his own stinging in the corners of his eyes, the urge to flee growing stronger by the minute, accompanied by nausea and guilt.

Pulling Victor’s hand away, finally, he stood up from the bed. He didn’t miss the way the other man sagged back against the duvet, the way something in him seemed to… fade.

Yuuri stared at the drunk, still crying, Russian.

Something clicked into place inside his mind.

The Victor before him wasn’t his Victor. He wasn’t this Victor's Yuuri either. But that meant… that meant that this version of his husband would never meet his own Yuuri, and would never find his love for the ice, or for life again.

He would never find his way out of his depression. For years, he’d considered himself lucky for not having to feel that way himself, and for being allowed to help his husband through it. He'd considered it his privilege.

This Victor though…

He would remain isolated and hidden – nobody knew that he was struggling at all. There was nobody to help him. He couldn’t imagine what that had to be like, couldn’t begin to imagine the pain that Victor had to be in… and Yuuri was deliberately pushing him away because of his own pain. Wasn't... wasn't that what he had done to his Victor as well, at first? 

He gulped. Maybe... maybe he still had more in common with his 23-year-old self than he knew.

Yuuri realised that he was faced with a choice. He could continue the path he had decided on. He could make this new life about skating, about winning everything… about getting as far from his old life as was humanly possible, until hopefully, at some point, it would end and he would be reunited with the love of his life.

The cost, however… what would be the cost?

He could walk away and leave this Victor to himself. Or he could accept that, while it wasn’t his husband before him, it was still… a version of Victor, just like he was a version of Yuuri.

They were wrong for each other, in this reality. He knew that.

Balling his hands into fists, he took a step.

Victor Nikiforov – in this reality, in any reality, would never suffer if Yuuri Katsuki could do something about it. He swore himself that.

He gently brushed Victor’s bangs out of his face and pressed a kiss to the other man’s forehead.

“You don’t have to act like this, Victor. Just… just be yourself. That’s enough.”

~~To Be Continued~~


End file.
